As the lights of the great Auditorium went dark and the orchestra took up an entrancing strain, Jeanne saw at the back of the stage a tree that seemed all aglow with light. And before this tree, dancing like some enchanted fairy, was a creature that, in that uncertain light, seemed half maiden, half bird.
“The Fire-Bird!” Jeanne’s lips formed the words they did not speak.
Soon the beautiful, glimmering Fire-Bird began to seem ill at ease. The shadow of a young man appeared in the background.
“Prince Ivan,” Jeanne whispered.
The Prince pursued the Fire-Bird. Round and round they danced. How light was the step of the Fire-Bird! She seemed scarcely a feather’s weight. How Jeanne envied her!
And yet there were those who would have said, “Petite Jeanne is a more splendid dancer.”
The Prince seized the Fire-Bird in his arms. She struggled in vain to escape. She entreated him. She attempted to charm and beguile him. He released her only, in beautiful and fantastic dance rhythm, to capture her again. At last, on being given one of her shining feathers as a charm against all evil, he granted her the freedom she asked.
The Fire-Bird vanishes. Day begins to dawn upon the stage. The music is low and enchanting. Then a bevy of dancing girls emerge from a castle gate. These are Princesses, bewitched and enslaved by a wizard.
As the thirteen Princesses danced upon the stage, Jeanne received a momentary shock. One of these, the third from their leader, had about her an air of familiarity. Jeanne was a dancer. She had learned to recognize other dancers by their movements. But this one—
“Where have I seen her?” she whispered.